An Essence Spun in Silver and Gold
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: Series of somewhat unrelated one-shots / Hermione Granger never asked for Blaise Zabini. She never asked Professor Vector to assign them as Arithmancy partners two semesters in a row. She never wanted for them to become friends only to lose connection after the war, and she never asked to see him again two years later. But the fates spun it all in silver and gold anyway.
1. Of Silver Quills and Arithmancy

**Written for Hogwarts Flying Lessons - Assignment 1: Kicking Off -** _All relationships have to start start somewhere! Discuss potential problems._ _ **Prompt:**_ _10\. (object) a quill_

 **WC: 1, 997**

 **This will be a series of 12 one-shots that do not directly relate to each other! However, I'm going to make the stories use the exact same timeline of events. Because of this, the stories will be in "chronological order", although the connection from piece to piece may not necessarily be strong or evident.**

 **I hope that you will enjoy these one-shots as much as I know I will writing them! :)**

 **xo Summer**

* * *

 **Third Year**

"A quill."

Hermione paused writing and glanced up, irritated, to find a dark-haired, olive-skinned boy standing above her. She straightened warily. He was Blaise Zabini, a third-year like herself but in Slytherin, and she had enough experiences with Malfoy and his cronies to know that appearances from Slytherins were rarely a good thing.

But Zabini was simply looking at her expectantly, his posture not necessarily friendly but not menacing either. Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Sorry?"

"I would like a quill." He nodded at the two extra quills that she had placed on the library table beside her ink.

"Don't you have your own?" she asked, wondering why on earth he was asking her of all people for one.

He gave her an annoyed look, which made her raise her eyebrows as he held out his right hand. The broken halves of a silver quill sat in his palm, and its elegant feather made Hermione's simple quills seem shabby in comparison.

"You could use _Reparo_ ," Hermione began to point out, but decided it would be wasteful to sit there and argue against a simple request, especially when her essay lay in dire need of more work before dinner came around.

Quickly, she reached out, grabbed one of her quills, and handed it to him. "Do you need ink as well?"

"Nope." And abruptly, and without a word of thanks, Zabini took the quill and walked back to his table. Hermione watched him with some perplexion and irritation before returning to her essay.

It figured that the next time she looked up from her work, Blaise Zabini was gone from his seat, his books and her quill with him.

She supposed she could ask him for it next time the Slytherins had a class with the Gryffindors, but the interactions between the two Houses were generally so scarce - in fact, nonexistent for Hermione and Zabini - that she was certain she would never have the opportunity to get her writing utensil back.

Sighing, Hermione forced herself to return attention to her essay. Dinner was in half an hour and she still had two paragraphs to go.

* * *

 **Fifth Year**

"… and Miss Granger and Mr. Zabini," Professor Vector finished. "Alright, you can move next to your partners now. Please give me your topics by the end of class."

Hermione scooped books off of her desk, and craned her neck, searching for Zabini as people moved around to their assigned partner.

She had had a feeling that she would be paired with the Slytherin. Professor Vector liked to pick final partners from different Houses, and Hermione had been partnered with a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff already. She supposed she could have been paired with one of the other Slytherins, but Professor Vector also liked to pick pairs according to performance.

It happened that Blaise Zabini had the second highest grade in the class, right below herself.

Hermione found the Slytherin at last, sitting in his seat with dark eyes already locked on her. He acknowledged her with a nod as she settled in the desk beside him.

"So," she began immediately, "do you have any ideas for our topic? I was thinking about doing a comparison between the Agrippan method and the Chaldean method. We could do hypothetical examples for each; I know there are some books in the library that show the alignment between them are closer than they seem-" She paused to take a breath.

"What a coincidence," Blaise took the opportunity to say. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

"Really?" Hermione could not help but sound incredulous.

He looked back at her and she noticed the way his eyes glinted with amusement. "No. Only you, Granger, could come up with a project with about a hundred subsections to it _and_ commit to it. As for me, that's too much work. It won't do."

Hermione stared at him, slightly affronted. "Well, what was _your_ idea then?"

Blaise waved a hand in the air. "Oh, I thought we could focus on the Chaldean method, since it's lesser known. Discuss its origins and the history behind it. Study why it's not as widely used."

She eyed the self-satisfied look on his face with distaste, but his idea did have an interesting premise. The gears in her mind were already spinning with all the exciting things they could research… "That's not a bad idea," she admitted begrudgingly. "We can do that."

He looked surprised but only said, "Excellent."

Hermione dug her hand in her bag to pull out a quill. It took a moment before she remembered that she'd lent her last spare one to Ron earlier in Charms and had forgotten to ask him to give it back - which therefore meant that she was now quill-less.

"You didn't bring any quills?" Hermione turned to Blaise, noting the amused expression on his face.

When she shook her head, he reached out to grab his own quill and held it out, the silver feather stark against his skin. "Here."

Surprised, Hermione took it. "Thanks." She finished writing just as the bell rang, and when she looked up, Zabini was already standing. "I'll turn it in," he said, taking the parchment from her.

She was still packing her books by the time Blaise returned to sling his bag over his shoulder. With a curt nod toward her general direction, he left.

It was half a minute later that Hermione realized he'd left his quill behind.

Mentally cursing herself, she rushed out of the classroom, bag banging carelessly against her knees, fingers clamped around the quill. Peering over the throng of students, Hermione spotted Zabini's dark hair at the end of the corridor.

"Zabini!" She set off, sidling through the crowd. "Zabini!" Blaise turned, as did his two companions.

Unfortunately, one of them happened to be Draco Malfoy. The blond's eyes narrowed as Hermione approached, while Daphne Greengrass simply looked disinterested.

"Here," she said to Zabini, catching up to his group and ignoring Malfoy's expression. "You forgot your quill."

Malfoy reached out before Blaise could, pushing her hand away. She frowned as Draco smirked. "He doesn't want it, Granger," he said insinuatingly. "It's been touched by a mudblood."

"You just touched a mudblood," Hermione pointed out. "I suppose that means you don't want _your_ tainted fingers anymore."

She saw Daphne Greengrass's eyes widen fractionally, while the corner of Blaise's mouth lifted high with - what was it - amusement? Approval? He stepped forward to take his quill, the quirky smile still on his lips.

"We'll have to meet to work on the project," he said nonchalantly, either ignoring or not seeing Malfoy's incredulous face. "Tomorrow night in the library?"

"Er, yes. That should be fine."

He nodded once, then turned around, twirling his quill in his hands. Daphne soon hurried to catch up to him, and Malfoy cast Hermione a hard glare before stalking after the others. His platinum gold hair glinted nearly silver in the afternoon light as he left.

* * *

 **Sixth Year**

"My quill snapped," Blaise announced to no one in particular in the nearly-empty library. He held up a sharp point that had evidently broken off his silver quill.

Hermione briefly glanced at it. "Use _Reparo_." Rustling sheets of notes, she reached out to point at the textbook splayed open between them. "Look, doesn't this contradict what we said in our research analysis?"

She felt Zabini's arm brush hers as he lean in to read, and immediately moved to put some space between them. She averted her eyes from the Slytherin as she waited for him to finish reading.

"Hm. Yes. It does." Blaise paused then grinned. "Although, really, no one but us has to know that."

She gave him an exasperated look and started to shuffle through their report papers, searching for their analysis sheet. "We'll have to fix that, and the conclusion - I distinctly recall that we mentioned it there -"

"It's not as if anyone will notice," Blaise said dismissively.

"You sound like Harry and Ron," she muttered aloud.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I should hope I don't." Before she could retort, he said imploringly, "Look. You're starting to mention Potter and Weasley, which means that we've been here far too long already - but if you insist on staying here until curfew, I have no objections. That is, as long as we get a break. Right now."

Hermione frowned, then tossed down her quill. "Oh, _alright_ ," she said irritably. "Five minutes. Or we're not going to finish this in time."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "It's not due for another week," he pointed out as he stood. "I'll be right back." He waggled his broken silver quill in the air then took off into the bookshelves.

Hermione watched him disappear behind a shelf that hid most of the library from view, from their little table in the back.

They had sat at this same table many nights last year too, working on Arithmancy like they were now. She remembered how methodical their work had been then - almost purely academic, without much companionship between them. It was different now, better, as if all the interaction last year was allowing them to become casual acquaintances this year, if not scholarly friends.

Hermione had been surprised when she'd first discovered that she and Zabini were partners again for their final this year, but didn't mind so much. Blaise did his fair share, contributed good ideas, and was not keen on procrastination. They worked well as partners, even better now that she felt more comfortable with him. _Strangely_ comfortable, she was beginning to suspect -

Blaise came back into sight, and Hermione straightened in her chair. He was frowning down at the quill in his hands. "Pince didn't have any extras," he said regretfully.

She eyed the broken object as he settled into his chair. "Is there a reason why you're not using _Reparo_ to fix it?"

"For someone so clever, you should know already. Even if I _did_ repair it, it wouldn't work."

Hermione blinked. "Why not?"

"Because if everybody could fix their quills every time they broke, then when would people need to purchase more?" He heard her protest and added, "They only do this with the more expensive quills. The kind that you're using" - he nodded toward hers - "still works after a _Reparo_." Blaise smirked at her. "Really, I'm surprised you didn't know already."

Hermione scowled at him but said, "Fascinating." Reaching down for her bag, she added briskly, "Well, if you're quill-less at the moment, you can borrow one of mine."

"Charitable of you, Granger," said Blaise, but he accepted her quill with a quirk of a smile. "Alright, what were the corrections we had to make?"

He began to flip through their papers. Hermione paused, eyeing the easy smile that was now familiar to her, like his handwriting, like the way he never wore his Slytherin tie when they worked together; the way they never greeted each other outside of the library or Arithmancy classroom but when their eyes met anyway, he always looked amused or entertained -

Hermione bit down on her lip, hard, and moved forward to help search through the papers.

They worked for an hour longer, until Madam Pince informed them that curfew was in ten minutes. "Are you coming same time tomorrow night?" Hermione asked, as she and Blaise packed up and exited the library.

"Possibly. Yes."

"Alright, see you then."

There was a slightly awkward pause, then Hermione started walking down the corridor, thinking wearily of the Transfiguration essays she'd promised Harry and Ron she would look over. She was almost at the corner when Blaise said, "By the way, Granger."

Turning to look at him, Hermione saw that he was holding her quill up between two long fingers. Without warning, he tossed it at her and, though surprised, she caught it.

The easiness in Blaise's voice that she was now familiar with was strangely warming as he called out, his back already half-turned, "Thanks for the quill."

* * *

 **Oh gosh, are you guys in love with this pairing as much as I am, or am I just crazy?**


	2. Two Sides of the Spectrum

**And here it is, the next Blaise/Hermione installment! These fics will be coming out approximately every 2 weeks, so there'll be a bit of space between each chapter. Thank you for all the feedback so far - I'm glad there are other Blaise/Hermione fanatics out there too ;)**

 **Written for Hogwarts Flying Lessons #2:** _Write about a misunderstanding. With a bad landing, you should quickly jump to your feet, mount your broom and try again!_

 **Prompt:** 6\. (plot) someone bullying a member of your pairing

 **Extra prompt:** (dialogue) "Don't give me that look."/"Why?"/"You and I both know what happens when you give me that look and now is not the time."

 **WC: 2,007**

* * *

"What I don't get," Harry muttered for what seemed the hundredth time, "is why Malfoy always disappears off the map. How does he go off-grounds?"

Hermione and Ron simultaneously sighed.

There were some mornings when Harry talked of nothing, and then the mornings when he talked of nothing but his suspicions concerning Draco Malfoy. It seemed today's morning was of the all-too-consistent latter.

Hermione followed Harry's stare to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was. Beside him sat Pansy Parkinson, who was trying to engage him in conversation. She was clearly failing.

"His family is on Voldemort's side." Harry glared ahead stonily. "It _has_ to connect to that."

She and Ron shared a mutual look of exasperation. As Ron cleared his throat awkwardly and leaned over to tap Harry's untouched plate of food, Hermione's gaze gradually slid back to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy's face _did_ seem paler than normal, and he, like Harry, was not eating. He in fact seemed totally unaware of the activity around him, the way Pansy Parkinson was trying to feed him, or that Blaise Zabini was showing him some book -

Hermione stopped chewing and blinked. Blaise. Leaning forward, she thought she could make out some worry in his posture as he eyed Draco…

Without warning, his dark eyes were quite suddenly on hers.

Blaise raised an eyebrow as Hermione coughed in surprise. His signature smirk surfaced, as if he was amused to find her watching him. She found the urge to yell across the Great Hall that she'd been watching Malfoy, not him, definitely not him.

Scowling, Hermione dropped the eye contact, though the prickling on her arms made her feel as if Zabini was still smirking at her as she speared some bacon.

Ron was still trying to convince Harry to drop the Malfoy subject. He had begun a desperate one-sided discussion about Quidditch, when something behind Hermione caught his eye and he stopped talking. "Oh Merlin, she's coming."

There was only one _she_ in Ron's mind. Hermione tensed but said coldly, "You should be happy to see her, Ronald, not scared."

As Lavender's "Won-Won!" pierced their ears and Ron moaned quietly into his food, Hermione set down her fork. "I'm going to the library," she announced stiffly. Turning exclusively to Harry, she said, "See you," and slung her bag over her shoulder.

The corridors outside the Great Hall were empty throughout the Entrance Hall and first floor. Hermione was just thinking about how hopefully this meant that the library would empty as well when she bumped into someone at the foot of the Grand Staircase.

"Watch it," the person said roughly.

Apologizing, Hermione made to move forward, but a large hand clamped around her arm before she could get any further.

Surprised, Hermione looked up quickly to see Vincent Crabbe glaring down at her. The expression on his face was alarmingly ferocious as he sneered, "You're alone, aren't you?"

Hermione didn't quite know what to say, but she noticed Gregory Goyle making his way up the last of the stairs from the Slytherin dungeons behind Crabbe.

"You were one of them," Crabbe continued with a snarl. Hermione could feel his fingers digging into her skin through two layers of cloth and sucked in her breath.

"Sorry?"

Goyle, who had reached them, cleared his throat. "Maybe you shouldn't be so hard, Vincent," he said uncertainly. "You might break her arm."

"Shut up!" For the first time, Hermione noticed the flames of anger behind Crabbe's hard, glinting glare. She temporarily stopped her struggles, realizing that Crabbe really _was_ angry at her - but for what? She couldn't remember recently or ever insulting him in a way that would make him actually furious -

"You're just like that because your father isn't in Azkaban," Crabbe spat to his friend. "Just 'cause your pop wasn't there -"

Hermione's thoughts raced. Was this about Azkaban? Then Crabbe's father must have been one of the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries who had been captured.

Crabbe turned back to her. Hermione winced at the sight of his vengeful expression. Her hand flew to her pocket; if she didn't fight back soon, she wasn't sure what he would do to her. She had just only touched her wand when an achingly familiar voice rang down the corridor, breaking the tension in the air.

"Precisely what is happening here?"

As Crabbe's beefy hand slackened on her wrist as he and Goyle spun around, Hermione took that chance to wrestle her arm away even as she thought with relief, _It's Blaise_.

And indeed it was. Even as Crabbe whipped back to her with a roar of dismay, hand outstretched as if he wished to grab her again, Hermione looked at Blaise, feeling both relieved and increasingly, inexplicably uncomfortable with every step he took toward them.

"Vincent," Blaise said warningly, and Crabbe paused mid-lunge. "What's happening?"

"Stay outta this," Crabbe growled. "I was teaching the mudblood a lesson."

There was a pause, then Blaise tilted his head. "Is that so? Excellent."

 _Excellent_.

The strange knot of emotions that had surfaced at the sound of Blaise's voice suddenly twisted, slithering to the pit of her stomach. For a moment, Hermione felt numb as she processed his words, that _infuriatingly_ calm look on his face - and then the knot exploded and fire raged through her veins, fire so strong that Hermione couldn't think properly.

Crabbe was spitting out, "...had to teach her, she deserves it," to no one in particular when Hermione straightened herself and snapped loudly,

"Five points from Slytherin for misconduct in the halls." Her voice echoed through the corridor, and Blaise turned to her. She stared at him for a cold moment that seemed to last far too long, before whipping around to the Grand Staircase.

She stalked up the stairs with alarming ferocity. Her hand was still gripping her wand, and as she barreled into the second-floor corridor, Hermione briefly wondered whether she could hex that neutral expression off of Blaise's face, along with her acute awareness of him ten feet, then twenty, behind her.

"Granger."

Hermione flinched. Her feet stopped of their own accord, and she felt herself whipping around even as she screamed at herself to keep walking.

Blaise was walking to her, calm, hands in his pockets, certain. "Don't give me that look."

"Why?"

He shrugged and had the nerve to _smirk_. "You and I both know what happens when you give me that look and now is not the time. Pince'll return the favor to you."

"I'm _not_ going to yell at you," she said bitingly, loathing him even more for knowing she'd been planning to, and spun around to storm into the library. Blaise followed, his eyes locked on her as she yanked out books and paper.

"Have they ever approached you like that? Vincent and Greg, I mean."

She glowered. "Stop bothering me."

"I am asking a simple question."

Slamming her quills onto the desk, Hermione refused to look up in fear that she would see treacherously familiar sparks of amusement in his eyes. "No. They haven't. Although that's not your business," she added scathingly.

"Hold out your arm."

Hermione's head jerked up. "Excuse me?"

Blaise was holding out a hand expectantly. "If you give me your arm, I'll leave you alone afterward."

Glaring, Hermione didn't move. "What are you planning to do with it?" she barked suspiciously.

He finally glanced up and she found his dark eyes startlingly unreadable. "Nothing."

She hesitated, and in that moment, in a single fluid motion, Blaise reached across the table and grabbed her hand. While one hand was used to hold her arm still, he used the other to shove the fabric of her sleeves up against her protests. The golden light filtering in from the windows of the library landed on her bare arm.

For a moment, they both stared down. Small bruises were already forming where Crabbe's fingers had dug in her skin.

Hermione flinched then yanked her arm backward. "Alright, go," she demanded, pulling her sleeve down.

He stood. But his eyes were still annoyingly unreadable, and Hermione found herself wondering what he was thinking. Just minutes ago, he had seemed perfectly happy to support Crabbe. But he was _here_ now, looking at her arm as if it pained him, not her.

A highly conflicted look slipped out of the cracks of his expressionless mask, and as Blaise leaned forward, Hermione found herself conscious of the way his eyes seemed to be tracing and capturing her face, and how alarmingly tall he was when she sat and he stood.

Blaise opened his mouth, and then words rushed out, like a wave crashing forward all at once. "There are ways to deal with Vincent, Draco, all of them, that you don't know anything of. So don't accuse me of not helping you back there when I was simply doing what they would understand."

Hermione frowned up at him. "I didn't accuse you of anything."

"You're angry. Not the most subtle person, Granger." The ghost of a smirk surfaced on Blaise's face, and she caught onto it in selfish, sudden relief - as close to a smile that she could get from him.

But the words that came out of her mouth were harsh. "And shouldn't I be?" Hermione demanded, speaking just as quickly as he had. "It's not your reasoning that matters. It makes some sense now that you're explaining it to me now, but I don't see you admitting that you were supporting the wrong thing."

"I was _helping_ you by making Vincent believe he'd done enough already!" Blaise, oddly, was looking anywhere but at her. And if she didn't know any better, she would've said that he was blushing. "If I'd told him to stop or whatever you wanted me to say or do, then he'd go after you again. It's how he thinks, how _we_ think."

Shaking his head, he looked uncharacteristically strained as he finished and raked a hand through his hair. "Well. I did promise I'd leave."

Hermione bit her lip as he turned without another word.

She had never taken Blaise as one to really pay attention to the people around him. The months they'd spent working on their Arithmancy final, he had always appeared to her as confident and calculating; somehow that hadn't extended to "understanding". But not only did it seem that he was utterly understanding of his fellow Slytherins, but it was also evident that he knew _her_.

He'd known she was angry, followed her here, and explained himself. He hadn't needed to; in all technicalities, should it have mattered to either of them that Hermione understood what he'd actually been doing, and that Blaise knew she knew? A Gryffindor understanding the way that a Slytherin worked; should it have mattered?

Not at all.

Hermione instinctively stood. "Blaise."

Blaise stopped walking and spun around. Already, he had wiped his face clean; she couldn't make out any of the troubled expressions on his face that she knew had been there seconds ago.

"Do you have some time?" Hermione racked her mind desperately for something to say. "I need, er, help."

Blaise frowned. "With what?"

Flushing pink, Hermione straightened; she might as well try to look dignified even though she knew she was being terribly embarrassing. "I, er, need help on this Charms assignment. Do you have time?"

He was looking at her searchingly, and Hermione had to force herself to meet his steady gaze.

Finally, after what seemed ages, Blaise cracked a smirk. It spread across his face slowly, but it took only the first sight of his upturned mouth for Hermione to suddenly feel warm inside.

"Hermione Granger, asking for help?." Blaise took a step back, and he was close enough that Hermione could hear every syllable as he spoke, his voice filling her with that same sense of relief and (not entirely unwelcome) discomfort she'd felt back in the hallway.

"I suppose I can stay, to see whatever other unnatural phenomenons you can come up with."

And, offering a small grin at her affronted expression, Blaise settled in the seat beside hers at the table without another word or gesture of discomfort - where they eventually sat, a girl and a boy under the guise of homework, for the remainder of that golden morning.


	3. Set Ablaze in Frost

**Woohoo! Finished this one earlier than I thought I would. Enjoy!**

 **Written for Hogwarts Flying Lessons Assignment 3 -** **Task:** _Consider the speed of a relationship! Maybe one of our pairing is moving too fast in some regard and making the other uncomfortable._ **Prompt Used:** _(location) Hogsmeade_

 **Word Count: 1, 936**

* * *

It was already April, but Hogsmeade was still covered in a light blanket of snow. Through the window tinted with silvery frost, Hermione could see only a couple of people out on the streets - probably because it was already so late into the evening.

She turned away from the glass, cupping her mug of warm butterbeer as she shifted in her cushioned seat. Her eyes darted around the Three Broomsticks skeptically, but it, like outside, only housed a few other people here tonight, all adults who probably wouldn't recognize them without their school ties. Still -

"This is so illegal," she said under her breath.

"That's only the fiftieth time you've said that." Blaise, who was sitting directly across from her, sipping his own butterbeer, rolled his eyes. "It's not _illegal_ , per say."

"It's against the rules." Hermione groaned. "Why are we here again? By the time we get back, it'll be past curfew."

Blaise looked unconcerned. "You're a prefect. You can make up an excuse."

"I can't _lie_ to them." But Hermione momentarily let it go, leaning back in her seat as she observed the boy sitting across from her. "So exactly why are we here again?"

Blaise ran a hand through his hair. This made Hermione's eyes narrow as she watched him glance around the bar. The Slytherin had a habit of ruffling his hair when he was nervous or uncomfortable - not that either was a common emotion for him, which made her wonder even more about why he had, this morning, pulled her aside and practically demanded that they sneak out of the school for a "bit of relaxation time".

Honestly, Hermione didn't know why she had agreed. The only reason she could think of was that she had finished all her homework already and that lately Ron and Lavender had taken to kissing in the Gryffindor common room, and that was very annoying. It was more than annoying, actually, but now that she was here with Blaise, she did not feel like thinking about that or Ron like she often did.

Blaise put on a mischievous grin. "We're here because I wanted to get away from the school. And because you've been looking stressed lately."

She snorted, though pleased that he'd noticed something about her. "So basically we're only here because you wanted to break some rules. And I have _not_ been that stressed. I've been doing really well with schoolwork, actually. If anything, it's Harry that's -"

Hermione stopped speaking abruptly, and bit down on her lip, hard.

"Potter, eh?" Blaise leaned in conspiratorially. "And about Weasley? How is he doing with the Brown girl?"

Hermione's stomach dropped and she shot a deathly glare him.

"Thought so." Blaise added casually, "You know, you're always fidgety when you mention him."

She blushed. "Am not!"

"Are too," Blaise smirked.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

For a moment, they stared defiantly at each other from across the table, Hermione's cheeks flushing still (damn her cheeks for being so pale) and Blaise's hand inching toward his hair again. Then suddenly, they broke eye contact and reached for their butterbeers at the exact same time.

Hermione rapidly withdrew her hands and changed the subject. "So why _did_ you want to escape the castle? And," she added deliberately, "couldn't have you gotten one of your friends to come with you instead of me?"

Blaise shrugged behind his cup. "They were busy," he said nonchalantly when he had finished drinking and set down his cup with a _clang_. "Plus, I needed to tell you something."

She arched an eyebrow, going for her cup now that he was finished. "About what? Is this about the Arithmancy final, because I talked to Professor Vector and she said she's doing something different before N.E.W.T.s this year. So no partners."

"Really?" Blaise frowned. "I was so looking forward to being partners again."

"Me too," Hermione said, surprised that he felt the same.

"But no, that's not what I was going to tell you about." Blaise sat forward, and his face grew serious. Hermione leaned toward him, arms crossed and flat on the table. His eyes traced around the bar as he continued, "But you cannot tell a soul that you were here with me, Granger. Swear it."

She frowned at him defiantly. "I will promise no such thing, Zabini, until I know what you're talking about."

"Swear it," he repeated stubbornly.

"What is it about?"

"You'll find out after."

"I'm not going to promise anything until you say what it is!"

Blaise muttered under his breath in Italian. When she didn't relent, he glared. " _Fine_. It's about You-Know-Who. Now will you promise not to say anything?"

Hermione stilled, chills rushing across her skin as her lips parted in shock. Blaise apparently took her wide-eyed silence as a _yes_ because he exhaled and said, "Good. Now don't speak until I'm done."

The noises from the bar seemed to fade fast away, Blaise's steady voice carrying all the sounds Hermione trepidatiously focused on. "I'm only telling you this because you get in so much trouble all the time, and knowing Potter, he'll drag you into this and you'll follow him whatever the circumstances." He gave a short laugh. "You'd follow him anywhere, even if it meant your lives. Anyway, it doesn't matter that much this time. They won't go after Potter unless he goes after them, which is pretty likely. But they aren't too concerned about you, either. If you keep on the lookout, nothing will happen to you or your precious friends."

" _They,_ Blaise?" Hermione, frozen with the sudden cold creeping into her heart, fought to harden her voice. "Who exactly are _they_?"

"You know who I'm talking about." He kept his composure even as she slowly stood, hardly aware of the pounding in her ears. She _did_ know who he was talking about, or at least she thought she knew, and for once she hoped she was wrong.

"How do you know this?" She searched his face but she could not see any overwhelming emotion in his eyes, just the reflections of the golden lights in the bar in his dark irises. "They aren't a threat right now, t-they can't get here to Hogwarts, the Apparition wards -"

"Clever, Granger, like always," Blaise muttered, making no indication that he was going to burst into a grin and declare it all a joke like she desperately wanted him to. Hermione's expression hardened; she stepped back from him.

"How do you _know_ this?" she repeated then shook her head, setting her jaw. "Are you one of them?"

Her shoulders sagged in brief relief when he said simply, "No."

They stayed there, silent, Blaise staring at her and she at him and the yellow room spinning in circles. She looked at their mugs of golden, sweet butterbeer on the table and wondered how it was possible that five minutes ago, they had been sitting here and acting normally, and that it had now come to this.

This. She did not want this.

She did not want this kind of information from _Blaise_. Since when had they gotten close enough to talk about the world outside of theirs? Usually they only worked together on homework and studies, with the exception of her occasional slip about Harry or Ron. But she had never said anything _personal_ about them or herself, and Godric knew that Blaise never mentioned any of _his_ friends or anything big about himself. That was the kind of relationship they usually had - one completely unique and _separate_ from the real world around them.

But now that they had escaped the castle - did that make the reality of their lives more prominent? Did that make it alright for Blaise to tell her about Death Eaters and their impending force, as if she could simply accept his confession that he was friends with people who were threats to Harry and all the Order members she loved? And why did it seem like he was warning her of something happening at the castle, when it would take a massive force before anything bad could happen at Hogwarts?

If she could have time to think, perhaps she could think it through and could understand more, _why_ he was telling her this.

But the room was still spinning and Hermione's vision was growing blurry. She took a deep breath, and said stiffly, "It's late. I'm going to go back to the castle."

Blaise rose. His eyes watched her with stunning clarity and she felt exposed, another factor adding to her present discomfort.

Hermione felt herself moving backwards, toward the door. "If I get caught on the way back..." she started, for the sole sake of saying something so she would not scream, "it's your fault."

And then she spun on her heel stalked out of the Three Broomsticks into the welcoming arms of the chill outside.

* * *

Granger, Blaise had long ago decided but now could confirm, was one of the most unpredictable human beings he had ever met, and was ever likely to meet. Usually Blaise was good at figuring people out, to the point where he could predict their reactions before they themselves could, and it was especially easy with girls his age because they were all mostly similar to one another.

But Hermione Granger was different.

She was _always_ different, from her bookworm persona to the way she didn't seem to care that three-quarters of their class called her a bookworm behind her back (even the Ravenclaws), and that a quarter of that called her much worse things. He used to think that she was just plain ignorant and too stuck in her teacher's-pet fantasy world to notice, but after that first Arithmancy final project, he'd wondered why he could have ever associated "ignorant" with Granger. She was anything but, which made her actions and feelings all the more difficult to decipher.

For instance, he hadn't known how she was going to take his little speech tonight.

In fact, he still wasn't exactly sure how Hermione had reacted. He didn't try to make sense of it now, either. Granger had listened to him speak and then she had left because something made her uncomfortable or agitated or angry, or all three. But she had _listened_ and sort of believed him, and that was all he had risked tonight for.

Blaise exhaled then stood. _Well,_ he thought, _that should be enough time for Granger to escape._

He headed toward the door, shivering at the rush of cold air that met him. He briefly wondered whether Granger had been cold on the way back to the castle; she hadn't brought a hat or her pink mittens with her, although he supposed her monstrous mane of hair would be enough to warm her ears and neck. He thought of the way she had stormed away from him, brown eyes ablaze in gold, frosty with the silver reflections of the windows behind him, of how clearly she was not yet ready to trust him.

He did not regret trusting _her_. Maybe he should have known she wouldn't take his affiliation with the Death Eaters lightly, that that was too personal to put between them. They were never supposed to be more than enemies, after all. But he still didn't regret telling Granger what little he'd discovered from listening in on Pansy and Goyle.

He only wished he understood why it had felt so important for him to warn her of the Death-Eaters' impending arrival - for him to be assured that she would be on the lookout in the weeks to come.

* * *

 **So this is taking on a darker turn that I didn't expect would come so early. Keep an eye out for the next one, because that's the last one that will be written in this whole sixth book setting ;)**


	4. In Hands of Gold

**Written for Flying Lessons Assignment 4:** _Write about a serious problem in your pairing's relationship._ _ **Prompt:**_ _4\. (plot) a funeral_

 **WC: 1,969**

* * *

The day of Dumbledore's funeral seemed to pass by slowly - but Hermione was glad for that. A few moments during the procession, she caught herself half-wishing it could last longer, because that meant more time to pay respects to a man who deserved it more than anyone.

But as the sun began to set, the funeral was nearing its end now. Several of the students (mostly Slytherins) had already trudged back up to the castle to return to the normalcy of life. Hermione remained with Ron under the shade of a tree to the side of Dumbledore's grave, while Harry was still sitting down at the seats with Hagrid; whether it was the half-giant comforting Harry or the other way around, Hermione couldn't quite tell from this distance.

"It's still hard to believe," Ron said abruptly. He was staring at the ground, one worn black shoe scuffing at the dirt. "I mean, we all just saw him so recently -"

He cut himself off, shaking his head. Hermione placed her hand on his arm and she stared up at his blue eyes. The comforting words that passed between them seemed to rest there, then dissipate as Ron glanced over at Harry and muttered protectively, "Gonna go see if he's okay. Coming?"

Hermione shook her head, not wanting to overwhelm Harry at once. She remained leaning against the tree, her dark robes blocking little of the wind that sailed through the air.

Moments passed, and she didn't know for how long she stood there - just that eventually, Ron returned to their secluded spot, his body providing some warmth as he settled back in his spot next to her. "Is he okay?" she asked anxiously, fingers subconsciously reaching out for his arm.

It was not Ron.

Hermione knew from the second that she touched the person, because Harry and Ron were as familiar to her as her own skin, and she just _knew_ , from the sparks that flew up her fingers. She spun around, mouth opened in an apology, to face none other than Blaise.

He was dressed all black mourning robes that made him look taller and more serious - but that might have been from the cautious look on his face as he eyed her in a way that made her tense up and clamp her mouth shut. As soon as she recovered from her astonishment, she too eyed him and noticed with surprise the bags under his eyes, the way his face looked thinner. She wondered how she hadn't noticed before - but then again, this was the closest they'd been to each other in a month.

"Zabini," she uttered when she trusted her voice wouldn't betray her shock.

"Is who okay?" His voice was effortlessly smooth. "Potter?"

"It's none of your business," she snapped, though her heart felt suddenly heavy. She turned from him defiantly. "Why are you here?"

"I'm attending the funeral."

"And why haven't you gone back to the castle?" she demanded. "The rest of the Slytherins did."

Blaise's eyes flashed. "Would you rather me be one of them?"

Hermione's reply was as quick as a whip. "You already _are_."

She heard Blaise exhale harshly after her words, and could imagine him watching her with those dark brown eyes that always seemed to get to her the way that no others could; but Hermione had forced herself to stay far, far away from Blaise Zabini for weeks now - she wouldn't abandon her crusade and she would most definitely not do it at Albus Dumbledore's funeral. But as she started to stalk off towards where she could see Harry and Ron sitting together, a hand clamped down on her arm.

"Honestly. Do you know how long it's taken me to finally get to you alone?" There was a hint of desperation in Blaise's tone.

"Save your time," she said coldly, wrenching her arm away.

"Stop avoiding me, Granger!" The words made her halt in her tracks, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from twisting back and glaring up at his handsome and - goddamn him - composed face.

He pushed himself off the tree. "Okay, I get it. This isn't the ideal place to confront you - but I don't have another choice! You always run out of the library when I so much as step in. You've hardly even looked at me in the past month." He grit his teeth. "So tell me, Granger, if you'll speak to me anytime else. Then we will speak then, not now."

She balled her hands into fists, hidden within the folds of her robes as she looked up into the Slytherin's face with understanding and trepidation that she hoped he could not see.

* * *

 _Two days after the Hogsmeade incident, Hermione was making her way to the Great Hall from the Potions dungeons where she had gone to ask Professor Slughorn a quick question about an upcoming assignment. She had just reached the corridor that connected the path to the Potions dungeons to the Slytherin dungeons when a familiar voice echoed down the stone corridor from around the corner._

" _So what was Pansy's verdict?"_

 _Hermione hurriedly skidded to a stop and steadied herself against the wall, breath caught in her throat as she listened intently. Blaise's companion replied,_

" _Draco wouldn't say anything. But he did confirm that the Dark Lord won't be here in person."_

" _Nothing we didn't know before."_

" _Nothing_ you _didn't know before, idiot. Not everyone is privy to as much information as you are."_

" _Greengrass," she heard Blaise hiss. "Not here." She could imagine, as if he were standing right in front of her, his narrowed eyes darting back and forth. She tipped her head backward so that it leaned gently against the wall._

" _Everyone's at lunch," Daphne whispered dismissively. "Come on, Blaise. Everyone knows that you've got close connections even if you're not one of them yourself. It's about time you come clean. Is it your mother?"_

 _Blaise muttered, "If you already know, why ask? We can discuss this after lunch."_

 _Their footsteps pattered away as the Slytherins clambered up the steps to the Entrance Hall. Hermione remained where she stood, fingers clasped around her bag handle so tightly that the fabric cut into her skin. She could hardly feel it._

* * *

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. More students were leaving the funeral for the school, heads bowed as they made way up the pathway. None of them looked toward where she and Blaise stood hidden by the shadows of the tree branches.

She cleared her throat, returning to Blaise. "What in the world would you want to talk to me about?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the reason you've been avoiding me?"

Although Blaise's tone was sarcastic, Hermione could read in his eyes - which she didn't want to look into for more than a few seconds - the genuine question in there.

But she did not know how to explain to his face that she had accidentally heard his conversation with Daphne Greengrass and knew that he was closely affiliated with Death-Eaters. She didn't know how she was supposed to spell out her disappointment in him, not for being related to the Death-Eaters, but for his passiveness.

Blaise crossed his arms impatiently. "I'll help you out. Hogsmeade, maybe? Except you're not a overly dramatic person, Granger, and the fact that you went so far as to make Vector change our seats makes me think there is something else to this."

"I did not ask Professor to change seats!" Hermione said indignantly. Was it her imagination or did Blaise look slightly relieved? "I'm not so petty as to do that."

"Fine. But that's only one aspect of you ignoring me. I know it has to do something with what I said in Hogsmeade." He stepped toward her, voice steely. "It's no secret that _I am a Slytherin_ , Granger. You've never seemed to heed that before. But I mention Death-Eaters once and you go ballistic."

"Because I don't consider being Slytherin the same as being a part of the group that killed Albus Dumbledore," she retorted. _And Sirius. And so many other innocent people._

Blaise leaned in, eyes blazing into hers. "I thought I told you. I'm not one of them."

He ran a hand through his hair, which was long enough to sweep across his forehead now - something else she'd failed to notice had changed. "Granger, my ideals are different from theirs. I don't believe in all that they do. You don't understand. Yes, some of them are my closest mates, but I'm _never going to be one of them_ , even if I am a Slytherin. But that doesn't mean that I'll support Potter, either. You should know not to believe in me that much."

He smiled wryly. "It's called being neutral."

She wanted to shake her head at him and say that neutral wasn't _enough_. She wanted to bite at all his words that she hadn't agreed with. She wanted to ask about his mother - but that meant revealing that she'd overheard him that day, and she wasn't sure that she wanted Blaise to know that she had been listening in.

He kept her gaze while she narrowed her eyes at him, lips pursed as these thoughts ran through her head.

"Neutral." The word escaped from Hermione's lips, quietly but with an air of certainty. She sighed. "I can't force you to do what's right. But at least you're not on their side." She lifted her chin and stared straight at him, her eyes boring into his. "Don't make me regret this, Blaise."

The corner of the Italian's mouth tugged upwards a little. "Oh, Granger. You already do." He shook his head at her innocently before taking a step back, suddenly looking awkward. "Er, does this mean you'll stop avoiding me?"

Hermione frowned, shoulders relaxing. "I wasn't _avoiding_ you. I was busy."

Blaise snorted. "Likely. Well, are you less busy enough to meet in the library tomorrow night? I have some questions for Ancient Runes."

"What about the day after tomorrow? Harry, Ron and I were planning to -"

"Ah. Yes, that'll work," Blaise cut in agreeably. He tilted his head, eyes searching her face, then he opened his mouth hesitantly. "You know," he said quietly, gesturing behind her to Dumbledore's burial site. "I really did like the old geezer."

Hermione felt an inexplicable rush of both sadness and affection as Blaise smiled then turned away to the castle.

"I'll see you the day after tomorrow, Granger," he called over his shoulder, his black robes rippling as he walked away from her.

"Yes. See you."

She paused long enough to watch his form trek away, and then made her way to Ron, Harry, and Hagrid. She didn't look back, not when Ron asked who she'd been talking to, not when she told him firmly that it had been nothing important.

Some part of her knew that something had shifted between her and Blaise, and no matter the fact that they'd be meeting each other soon like normal, an irrevocable gap had already formed between them. It was a barrier unlike anything that had ever been wedged between them before - after all, they had never had the conventional Gryffindor-Slytherin relationship. But Dumbledore's death, and this impending evil created by Voldemort was making it impossible for them to ever really return to "normal".

But some things were just spun by destiny. They were irrevocable, permanent, sometimes heartbreaking. But they happened with the hope that the future had something better in store waiting to come into play at the right moment in the right time.

If the fates had chosen Hermione's brittle relationship with Blaise to be one that had to be broken in order to rejoin… then there was nothing they could do but to bear with it and wait for the future to greet them.

* * *

 **Phew! This one took a while, particularly because the darker mood was hard to wrestle with for me. But not to worry. I guarantee that things will be taking on a brighter perspective… starting from the next chapter (as you might see from the ending of this one)!**


	5. Silver Clocks of Miles

**Written for Hogwarts Flying Lessons Assignment 5: Prompt used -** 11\. (location) Gringotts

 **Seeker** _ **:**_ _Someone who is not afraid to take risks to get what they want but don't jump into things - they usually think first. They feel that they have the weight of the world and typically run into the problems, but accept help when offered._

 **WC: 1,760**

* * *

 **TWO YEARS LATER**

The white marble steps that led to the grand doors of Gringotts Bank looked the same as they had the first time Hermione had ever laid eyes on them: pristine and prestigious. Except while eleven-year-old Hermione had been unable to keep her jaw from falling open at the grand sight, twenty-year-old Hermione Granger scaled up the steps without so much as a second glance at the ornate building.

She was rather in a hurry; she was supposed to meet up with George and Ron at the joke shop in just fifteen minutes. The large bank doors opened at her insistent touch, and Hermione spared a small smile for the plaque that warned thieves and plunderers beware as she rushed past.

The dome of the bank was captured gold light that poured through the windows as Hermione shuffled into line, digging into her bag for her account key. It was busier than normal at Gringotts today, though it was true that Hermione usually went during the weekdays before or after work. The Ministry was closer to Diagon Alley than the flat that she shared with Harry was.

By the time she reached one of the goblins behind the long desk, five minutes had passed and Hermione was beginning to worry that she was going to be late for the meeting - not, as one might suppose, because the Weasleys would be impatient with her if she was, but because they would use her tardiness to their advantage by pranking her. She hastened her pace.

"Hello. Number 8971, please," she said promptly, sliding her key across the counter.

Thin gray fingers picked up the key from the marble top. "Ms. Granger. Long time no see."

Hermione looked up at the goblin who stood behind the desk. Then her mouth dropped in astonishment. " _Griphook_?"

The goblin smiled thinly. "Yes. It has been awhile, hasn't it? What do you need today?"

"Withdrawal. Harry'll be happy to know that you still work here - we were just discussing you the other day."

"Wizards' gossip about goblins?" Griphook eyed her, then pulled out his own set of keys. "Well, come along."

"Usually another goblin comes to take us," Hermione mused, following after the goblin, who turned to her with his eerie black eyes unblinking.

"Forgive me, Ms. Granger. I only wish to relive the last time I saw you at this bank." His gray lips curled into a sneer that made Hermione remember why she'd never really liked him. "Wizards are fickle figures. The goblin who made Godric Gryffindor's sword could attest to that."

A flush quickly spread across Hermione's face. She darted forward so that she was walking beside Griphook. "That was _two years_ ago. And you know we needed it," she whispered, eyes flicking to check that no one had heard the goblin. "We were going to give it to you after we finished using it, we only needed a little more time -"

"Ah, time. Humans don't understand time as we goblins do." Griphook closed his mouth as another goblin walked past, keys jangling in her hands. "Time leads to memories lost, Ms. Granger. Do you think that your friend Mr. Weasley would have allowed you to remember the sword once it had served its purpose?"

"Of course," Hermione said, stung. "And don't blame Ron for what happened. We needed the sword."

"Obviously not. You succeeded in whatever mission you had anyway, did you not?"

They had reached the tunnel where the tracks started; no carts were available so they stood waiting together, Hermione's frizzy curls and bright eyes a contrast to Griphook's smooth gray robes and skin.

"I do apologize for attempting to deceive you," relented Hermione begrudgingly. "If I'd thought of the basilisk fangs earlier, then we could have given you the sword and you needn't have betrayed us -"

Griphook laughed, a low, raspy sound that made Hermione twitch uncomfortably. "Oh, I would have done it anyway," he said silkily.

The rattle of an approaching cart saved Griphook from having to face Hermione's burst of irritation for him. They stood on the platform, watching the little box carrying a wizard and a goblin dart out of the dark tunnels and come to a stop in front of Griphook's thin hands.

"Pangborn," said Griphook with a nod as the younger goblin slid out. He gestured for Hermione to enter.

As she clambered into the cart, the dark-haired young man inside stood dizzily, though he still extended a steady hand to Hermione. She declined to take it, but looked up and thanked him.

She was halfway into the cart, Griphook lifting a leg to climb in, when the alarms in her head sounded off violently. She whipped around to stare at the young man again. Her lips parted at the sight of him.

He had evidently spun to look back at her too; his body was half-twisted so that he faced her with brown eyes wide in recognition. His short dark hair curled slightly at the ends and seemed dipped in the gold light from the torches to either side of the tunnel.

Hermione's mouth moved to silently say his name. Inside of her, her heart throbbed with sudden memories. She felt as if they had been waiting for this very moment in time to flood her with the smell of parchment and the library, laughing at night five minutes before curfew, meeting up in Hogsmeade.

 _Blaise_.

The cart suddenly tipped forward. Hermione only had seconds to stare at the Slytherin friend from her past before she and Griphook were whizzing down the tunnel, until the form of Blaise Zabini was only a speck in the distance.

* * *

Griphook attempted to speak to Hermione extensively on their trip to her vault, and his topics of choice - the Gryffindor sword, Harry, herself, etc. - might have seriously irked her had she been able to listen to him, but as it was, Hermione could hardly pay attention.

They arrived back at the platform within a few minutes. Griphook led her back to the counter, his bottomless eyes observing her emotionlessly.

"Thank you, Griphook," she said absentmindedly, slipping her key back into her bag. "It's been wonderful to see you again."

The goblin pursed his thin lips and nodded, then strutted away without a word. Hermione watched after him for a few seconds before turning to leave the bank. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the faint rays of sunlight outside.

Remaining on the top step, Hermione carefully scanned the alley below, squinting at every person who sported dark hair. Her memory raced with the sight of him under the dim light of the Gringotts torches. She wondered why she hadn't _said_ anything - but what would she have said? What _would_ she say if he was still here? Oh, she hoped that he was here somewhere. She wanted to catch up with him, although that might risk appearing overeager -

And then she spotted him.

He was leaning against one of the pillars of the bank, arms crossed casually as he stared down at the bustle below, his dark hair tipped back and a contrast to the white marble behind him. A hand was slipped into his robe pocket; it was a nice robe too, fancy fabric, one that a person of high standing wore because they knew it looked rich - Hermione knew this from working at the Ministry and observing co-workers.

Hermione stepped forward and forced herself to act calm - Merlin, why the heavens was she so nervous? - as she called out, "Zabini."

Blaise turned, pushing himself off of the marble pillar as she walked toward him. The look on his face was shock at first, and then his lips curved into a small smile. She wondered how many times she'd seen that smile but had forgotten it by now; in retrospect, she was certain they had shared many smiles together in the library.

"Granger. It really is you."

Hermione smiled. "What do you mean?"

He tilted his head at her, still grinning. "The _Prophet_ features you at least once a month. But I'm finally seeing you in person. It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"Quite," Hermione agreed. She shifted her bag on her shoulder hesitantly. She'd just remembered something, standing here with Blaise Zabini. She had just remembered a time they had stood exactly like this, facing each other at Albus Dumbledore's funeral and having a very different kind of conversation at the time.

Blinking rapidly, she dispelled the memory, not wanting it to dampen the moment. "How have you been?" she asked hurriedly.

"Well enough. And you? I heard that you recently got accepted into the Department of Law at the Ministry." At her startled look, he winked at her. " _Prophet_. Remember?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right. Well, unfortunately I had no way of keeping tabs on you. What have you been up to?"

The smile spread wider across Blaise's face, and Hermione blinked rapidly and averted her eyes from his handsome grin. "I'm surprised Potter hasn't told you," he said idly.

"Harry?" Hermione peered at him again, in surprise. "What does he have to do with this?"

He dropped another wink at her. "Find out for yourself, Granger. I had to find out about you all by myself."

She blushed, just as the clock in Diagon Alley struck eleven in the morning. With a start, Hermione straightened and muttered to herself, " _Damn_ , I'm late -" Looking at Blaise, she noted the amusement on his face as he watched her. Oh, she really had to get going but she did not want to just leave where she was with Blaise. She didn't want to risk leaving and never being able to actually catch up with him again.

"I have to get going," she said quickly. "But it's been great seeing you. Do you - Would you like to meet up sometime to catch up?"

"Owl me," said Blaise, nodding. "Or, you know, find some reporter to put it in the _Prophet_ next week."

Hermione snorted and turned away, though not before blinking up at him and observing his face that she had quite frankly forgotten to think of for the past two years. Then she put a hand up and waved goodbye, and hurried down the steps across the street to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

A cloud of magical hair spray and cackles of glee from Ron and George met her immediately upon entering the shop, but Hermione could not help but smile. Seeing Blaise Zabini once more made her feel strangely invigorated. It somehow felt very right.

* * *

 **Hope you guys are excited about this new time setting as I am! :)**


	6. Wings of an Angel's Fate

**Flying Lessons #6:** _Your opponents will be aiming to hurt you from the get go and we should have this shown by incorporating another member into the relationship that is causing problems._

 **Prompt:** (action) a kiss

* * *

Tuesday afternoon found Blaise in his study, quill twirling between his fingers as he neglected the pile of paperwork on his desk.

Staring rather impatiently out the window, Blaise had unfortunately been in the same position for quite a while now - but every time he'd tried to work, he'd become distracted by some noise and spin toward the window, expecting an owl to be perched on the sill (but finding none), and he'd decided it would expend entirely less energy to just wait for an owl to actually appear.

He tapped his chin with the end of his quill, musing silently to himself. Did Hermione Granger even own an owl?

He remembered that back at Hogwarts, she'd only had that blasted cat of hers, and she had always used the school owls to send letters out. So if she still didn't have an owl, then perhaps she was having trouble acquiring one? Maybe that was the reason she hadn't called on him yet. The thought brightened him up for a few seconds, and Blaise smirked to himself.

But they had bumped into each other on Saturday, he realized, and it was Tuesday now. Granger had said that she was going to owl him and she was usually punctual about that kind of thing, owl or no. He frowned. There was the slim chance that she'd forgotten, and then there was the possibility that she had only wanted to be polite in those last seconds, and wasn't really intending to -

Blaise cut himself off there, letting the quill drop onto his desk as he stood abruptly, smirk gone from his face.

"Salazar," he muttered to himself without much chastise. He grabbed his coffee cup and was making his way to the door when - shockingly - a sharp tap on the window made him spin wildly around.

The sight of a brown barn owl fluttering outside his flat window made a grin split across his face, though Blaise didn't stop to ponder it. He just let the owl in and grabbed Hermione's long-awaited note with a triumphant grin.

Ten minutes later, he scribbled out a quick note to Daphne before grabbing his coat and Apparating to the little cafe on Diagon Alley.

* * *

"Sorry this was so abrupt," Hermione said anxiously as she and Blaise seated themselves at a little table outside of the cafe. "I should have owled earlier."

"No worries," the Italian said languishly. He was wearing a dark coat that seemed to bring out the life in his eyes - not that Hermione was _looking_. It was just noticeable. "What time do you have to be back to the Ministry?"

"I've got an hour. And you?"

Blaise grinned as he leaned back in his chair. "All the time in the world." At her disbelieving expression, he added, "It's true, really. I won't be starting at my new job until next week."

Hermione leaned forward, attempting and failing to not to drink in every detail of Blaise Zabini's face like she'd been (somehow) craving to do since Saturday. "And exactly what is this job for? I recall you didn't tell me last time."

"Didn't I?" he asked vaguely as a waiter approached their table. "Oh, look. Let's order."

Hermione rolled her eyes and murmured, "Well, I suppose I'll find out eventually."

In the next twenty minutes that followed, Blaise and Hermione immersed themselves in topics of all sorts - the Ministry, how Hogwarts was faring, even a little bit of Quidditch - all while their orders of tea sat forgotten in the midst of the conversation. In those moments, Hermione reflected on how she had been foolish to be nervous for this little meeting; Blaise was easy to talk to, and she felt buoyed with pleasure, pleasure that Blaise was still like the bits and pieces she remembered, pleasure that speaking with him felt easy and genuine.

But their excitable discussion on the expansion of Wizarding schools in Europe was halted suddenly when two young, familiar women stopped behind Blaise's chair, eyeing Hermione curiously. Hermione stopped mid-sentence and blinked up at the two, whose curiosity morphed into surprise as recognition lit their identical gray eyes.

Their eye contact was broken when Blaise glanced over his shoulder and suddenly sat up, smiling. "Daphne, Astoria! I thought you went to visit your parents today."

"We did," said the shorter of the two, whom Hermione finally recognized as Daphne Greengrass, a former Slytherin classmate back from Hogwarts. "Mum was feeling tired though, so we left early. Astoria wanted to try this place out."

"You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" inquired Astoria, the younger sister whose sweet smile was filled with gaiety. Hermione had never seen her before, but she had an uncanny resemblance to her sister; they looked nearly like twins.

"Er, yes. Nice to meet you." Hermione blinked at Blaise, who had gotten to his feet and was looking from the Greengrass sisters to Hermione with a slightly bemused expression on his face.

Daphne noticed it too. "So what are you doing here?" She gave Hermione a quick glance. "Ministry business?"

"Ah, no. Granger and I were just catching up. We ran into each other over the weekend, you know." He ran a hand through his hair, turning to smile at Hermione for a second before returning his attention to Daphne.

Silence followed his statement, until Daphne offered Hermione a small quirk of the mouth. "Well," she said after a moment, "I'll leave you to this, then. Astoria and I were planning to visit this wonderful place in Muggle London - this park, it's called Hill or Hood or something -"

" _Hyde_ Park?" Hermione supplied, barely managing to contain her bewilderment at hearing pureblood Daphne Greengrass excited at the prospect of a famous muggle location.

"Yes! That's it." Daphne gave Hermione another quirky smile before turning back to Blaise. "So I'll see you at home."

"Until then, love," Blaise said with a wink. He leaned down and kissed her before she and Astoria left the cafe, their heels clicking as they walked away from a rather stunned Hermione.

Her initial thought wasn't very rational, but she thought of it anyway, eyes immediately darting to Zabini's ring finger as he took his seat again, looking quite calm. Well, Hermione supposed as she quickly noted his finger was bare, she wasn't entirely certain why _she_ didn't feel calm or easy because really, there was no reason for her to feel uncomfortable…

To fill the silence, Hermione noted aloud, "I haven't seen them since Hogwarts," before reaching almost desperately for her cup of tea - incidentally, at the same time that Blaise reached for his.

Blaise cleared his throat and smiled. "You wouldn't have, with how busy they and you have kept yourselves." A sudden thought seemed to occur to him, and he set down his cup, eyes glinting playfully. "By the way, how's the Weasley boyfriend faring?"

Hermione nearly spat out her tea. "What?" she choked.

"You know. Weasley. Ginger. Oh, wait, they're all ginger."

"I'm not going to discuss my personal relationships with you, Zabini," Hermione said, blinking rapidly and flushing.

Blaise sucked in a breath and stirred sugar into his tea. "Now that's hardly fair, Granger. I just displayed mine in front of you."

She rolled her eyes, though the image of him and Daphne flashed unwelcomingly into her mind. "That was your choice entirely."

"Still. Indulge me, out of kindness if not out of fairness." Blaise suddenly smirked. "It's perhaps the one thing that the paper _doesn't_ cover about you."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Really? I had no idea." But she remembered what he'd said the other day, about keeping up with her in the _Prophet_ , and briefly tried to imagine the cool Blaise Zabini she remembered from school keeping up with anyone in such a fashion. The image was hard to believe.

"Yes. Consequently, I'm lacking information here that only you can provide."

Desperately checking her watch, Hermione replied with hurried relief, "Oh, I've got to get back now." She gathered her coat and bag, offering a triumphant smile at Blaise as she dropped a couple of Knuts on the table. "It was great to speak to you again."

He stood with her, infuriating smirk lighting up his face. "You're trying to escape, Granger."

"Not at all." Hermione stuck out a hand. "Until next time?"

"Confident there will be another time, hm?" But he took her hand anyway, his warm fingers enveloping hers as she looked up at his dark brown eyes and found herself inexplicably pleased at the idea that there would be a next time.

But the thought of Ron, and then Daphne Greengrass, ripped across her mind, and she quickly let go of Blaise's hand. For a moment, as she stood smiling politely at him, Hermione wondered (for the tenth time since Saturday) how close she and Zabini had actually been at Hogwarts. She had a feeling that they hadn't been that close, separated by Houses and all, yet the fluttering wings in her chest seemed startlingly familiar - and somehow, they made her feel jarred and relieved and uneasy all at once.

* * *

 **Yeah, I'm pretty disappointed that kiss prompt didn't apply to Blaise/Hermione too. But never fear! Our beautiful pairing shall make it through.**


	7. Voila in Gold

**Flying Lessons #7:** Write about an obstacle affecting your pairing. It could be at the start, someone unable to forgive and forget. A negative impact should be caused but your pairing must get over it!

 **Prompt:** (dialogue) "I'm sorry, for everything that I've done."

 **WC:** 1,603

* * *

It was a relaxed day in the Ministry cafeteria - and perhaps that was only because, as word had gotten around, the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (the RCMC for short) and the Department of International Magical Cooperation were up in a frenzy over some problem with illegal hippogriffs being brought over from Russia.

Apparently, it was quite dangerous and keeping those two departments from lunch break, leaving the cafeteria relatively quiet. As usual though, Harry and Hermione sat opposite from each other as they ate.

Hermione prodded at her food, twirling her fork thoughtfully.

"Harry," she began in an impeccably accurate impression of an offhanded tone, "have you - do you remember Blaise Zabini? He was a Slytherin in our year back at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded. "Tall, curly-haired one? Yeah. Wasn't he Malfoy's friend?"

"Yes, him." Hermione tapped her chin innocently. "Have you heard anything about him recently?"

"Surprisingly, yes. Why? Have you?" Harry's green eyes narrowed at her curiously, and Hermione cursed his observant Auror skills.

She decided it was hopeless to carry on a facade of disinterest now, and abandoned it, leaning forward and asking, "Is he by chance joining the Auror department?"

"Yes, he's part of the new recruit group. Did he tell you himself?" said Harry, blinking at her rather rapidly.

"So he is?" Hermione sat back in prim satisfaction, thinking of her and Blaise's conversation outside of Gringotts. "I thought so!"

"Honestly, I didn't even know you knew him. I hardly recognized him when he came in with his application."

Hermione waved her hand in the air. "I bumped into him recently in Diagon Alley." She paused and mused, "He looks good, doesn't he?"

Harry choked on his crisps. "Are you _seeing_ him, Hermione?"

Hermione blindly kicked at him under the table. "I meant that he looks like he's in a _good place_ , Harry! Not - not physically -"

Smirking, Harry caught her foot between his calves, by some instinctive Auror defense mechanism that she could never understand. As she glared at him, he added seriously, "But you're only half right. Don't tell anyone, but there was a lot of debate on if we should let him in or not."

Hermione stopped struggling to get her foot away. "Why?"

Harry's face clouded. "It's because of the Zabinis' political connections to so many of those pureblood families - the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses. He wasn't even a Death-Eater during the war. But he wasn't on our side either, and the admissions board didn't like that." She must have appeared extremely concerned, because Harry rushed to add, "But Kingsley himself let him in. Not in the most desirable unit, but he's still in."

* * *

For some reason, Hermione could not get Harry's words off her mind for the rest of the day. At six o'clock, she gave up on finishing early work completely, tossing her papers onto her desk and packing up her bag.

"Feeling tired today," was her explanation to Ann, one of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's secretaries, on her way out.

"You get some rest, Ms. Granger," said Ann, shaking her head. "This is the first time in weeks that you haven't stayed over time."

As Hermione waited for the lift, she thought about what Harry had said about the admission board and the Zabini family's pureblood connections. The Ministry was really a miracle - two entire years after the war based on prejudice, and yet discrimination still lurked in the magical government. She supposed it was easy to justify, though - the losses of the Second Wizarding War still impacted society today. Would a mother grieving her child really want to see a former Death Eater have control over court justice? Would a husband trust an Auror whose friend had murdered his wife?

Hermione sighed. She did understand. It was easy to understand that it made the act of standing still seem like a crime.

As she entered the lift, Hermione suddenly wondered if she was seeing things, if her thoughts about the circumstances surrounding Zabini had fashioned some illusion of him in front of her. But no, he was really in this lift, and he was staring at her with surprise gracing his features in a rather attractive manner.

Hermione was first to react, breaking into a polite smile. "Zabini. I didn't expect to see you here."

Blaise blinked, then grinned - which, to her chagrin and embarrassment, somehow brought the memory of Daphne Greengrass looking up at Blaise to her mind.

"We keep crashing into each other. I suppose you're getting off work?" He waved a black folder in the air. "I had to file one last paper."

"Oh yes. I hear you're joining the Auror department."

"Have you been doing research?" Blaise looked pleased at the idea.

"Well, you wouldn't tell me. I had to." She suddenly peered up at him curiously. "I am wondering, though. What made you want to be an Auror?"

Blaise turned his gaze up at the ceiling of the lift, drumming his fingers against the metal handrail. His facial expression slowly turned serious - and then he turned to her, corner of his mouth wryly quirked upward. "You would believe me if I told you, right?"

Hermione frowned. "Of course."

"Ah, if only everyone was as morally stubborn as you." Blaise shook his head. "It was the war memorial, if you must know. When they set up that whole event in Diagon Alley. I remember seeing the faces of everyone who had died in the war - but people like Theo's brother and Daphne's uncle weren't included."

She remembered the memorial too, on the first anniversary of the war. Black flags had swung above the streets of Diagon Alley like a cloud, and on every flag was a picture of a person who had been lost in the war. Fred, Remus, Tonks, every death that still impaled their hearts today. But Blaise was right. None of the deceased on the Dark Side had been honored that day.

"They were Death Eaters," she murmured. "That's why."

"That's why," Blaise agreed. He clucked his tongue. "At first it made me angry to know that they didn't acknowledge half the friends and family members who died in the war."

His dark eyes found Hermione's as the lift shuddered to the stop, announcing, " _Basement Level 8. The Atrium_." Neither of them moved, even when the door creaked open; Hermione met his gaze levelly, wanting him to continue even as words sat on the tip of her tongue.

"But they were Death Eaters," repeated Blaise slowly. "Could even you forgive them for what they did? It made sense that people on your side wouldn't honor the people who had killed them. Or even the people who stayed neutral and didn't fight the Dark Side." He paused. "Do you remember when the school was attacked in sixth year, the year Professor Dumbledore died?"

She nodded.

"I think that was around when I told you that my position in the war was neutral." Blaise scratched his chin. "I still remember the look on your face. Granger, it was like you had seen something revolting in me in that moment."

He grinned. "Anyway, so after that day at the memorial, I thought about that look on your face, and how you were always getting into trouble because you took Potter's side all the time. I decided no more neutrality and, voila, Auror." Blaise finished and cleared his throat.

"It seems a bit more complicated than _voila_ ," she said slowly. She moved to get out of the lift, and slowed her pace as they stepped into the Atrium side by side.

"Have you forgiven those people who were Death Eaters? Because you're right," she added truthfully, "I can't."

"Of course I have." Blaise didn't hesitate, but managed to wink at her lightly as he said, "And I know I'm right."

She shook her head. "And have you done the same for yourself? For staying neutral?"

He paused and then smiled at her, in the way that told her he knew that she understood enough, and that she could figure out the answer in the sad curve of his lips. "Voila," he said as way of explanation.

They stopped at the base of the Ministry statue, an improved version that was neither the gruesome image when Voldemort had controlled the Ministry, nor the hierarchal one before that. This one Hermione actually approved of, as it painted the wizard, the centaur, the goblin, the merman, and the giant in balance with one another. It was the image of equality, said the silver plaque signed by the Minister.

"You know that I'm sorry for everything I've done, Granger." Hermione glanced at Blaise through the corners of her eyes as he exhaled, gaze fixed on the statue. "More like haven't done, actually."

She felt a sudden rush of warmth and sympathy for him, the boy who had remained neutral despite everyone else choosing sides, the young man who didn't blame those who had chosen darkness instead. She did not understand all of it, and she certainly did not agree with all he had done. Yet…

"It wasn't all your fault," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, hope isn't lost. You have your… voila now."

A smirk spread across Blaise's face as he turned from the statue to her. He looked pleased, Hermione thought, pleased and relieved. She had never seen his eyes so clearly as to notice the flecks of gold in his dark brown pools.

And perhaps it was the sincerity that was making his eyes shine as he nodded at her with a dazzling wink. "Voila."

* * *

 **I'm really glad at the direction this chapter took. :)**


	8. Bow to Silver Faith

**Task:** You're trying something new! This could be anything from a new food to a new sport but one of your pairing should be showing some nerves and discomfort.

 **Word Count:** 1996

 **Prompt:** (creature) Hippogriff

* * *

"Merlin, they are more hideous than I remembered."

"I think they're quite beautiful."

"Certainly, Granger, if your idea of beautiful is a 1 ton creature that looks like it wants to bite off all your limbs."

Hermione stepped to stand beside Blaise, craning her head to get a better look at the hippogriffs which were currently being led inside by some Ministry employees from the Magical Creature department. "Hippogriffs are relatively harmless if you don't aggravate them," she said matter-of-factly, peering at the procession of the great beasts near the Ministry back entrance.

The owner of the hippogriffs -or how indeed the hippogriffs had gotten ahold of a Portkey and transported from Russia to the fields of rural England, was yet to be discovered; the Ministry was still trying to secure a place to keep the hippogriffs, but for now, the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department were awkwardly trying to deal with the creatures.

Blaise scoffed as they both eyed the hippogriffs. "In third year, one of that half giant's hippogriffs scratched me even though I was hardly looking at it."

"You _have_ to look at them to make them trust you," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "Was it really you who got scratched? I distinctly remember Malfoy with the scratch. Rolling on the floor and all that."

"Yeah, because he's a snarky one, Draco." Hermione could hear the subtle defensiveness creeping into Blaise's voice, as it tended to do when he spoke of his pureblood friends. She kept herself from turning around as Blaise said, slipping back to a satisfied tone, "But _I_ bore with it. Evidently."

"Practically a hero," she muttered as she turned away from the hippogriffs. "I've got to get back soon." She frowned at him. "Weren't Aurors supposed to assemble half an hour ago? Harry always has to get back earlier than I do."

"Potter's in the alpha group," Blaise explained. "I'm in the newest recruits so our lunch breaks are a little longer."

"I see. Well, I think I'm going to -"

"Ms. Granger!"

Hermione turned her head and found an acquaintance of hers, Lavinia Patel, jogging from the Ministry back door to where she and Blaise stood in front of the lifts.

"Ms. Granger! Do you have a couple of minutes to spare?" Lavinia asked anxiously. She had a couple of hippogriff feathers in her brown hair, and she brushed them off impatiently.

"I have about… seven minutes," said Hermione. "Why?"

"Oh, perfect. Would you mind helping us out? A couple of our members are missing today. You can bring your friend," added Lavinia, blinking rapidly and turning pink at, no doubt, Blaise's unarming smile.

"Alright," Hermione said, glancing at Blaise, who only raised his eyebrows at her before walking towards the open doors across the hall.

"Oh, good. Do you know how to behave around hippogriffs, Ms. Granger? And, er, Mr….?"

"Zabini," Blaise supplied with another smile that made Lavinia stumble on her feet a little - and perhaps Hermione would have shaken her head at the younger employee if she herself didn't feel like stumbling every time he smiled at _her_ …

"Yes, Mr. Zabini. Do you both know how to properly behave around these hippogriffs?"

"Hold still, meet their gaze without blinking, and never touch them until they allow you to," Hermione rattled off as they approached the doors and the hippogriffs came into sight.

There were more than Hermione thought: at least a dozen. They were roaming around on the little terrace of the Ministry gardens, obviously kept in by some type of wards. About six Ministry workers were slowly making their way back inside with submissive hippogriffs on their heels, but there still remained a handful of hippogriffs that were staring around rather menacingly.

"Hippogriffs are classified as Level 3 creatures," Lavinia said, "so be careful about them. If you're not comfortable with engaging with them, then we could just use some help keeping track of them and making sure they don't engage violently with each other. Use magic only if it's necessary. Thank you so much, both of you. Oh yikes, I've got to help him -"

Lavinia dashed away from them to aid a young man with his hippogriff which had just started making an ominous, rumbling growl. Hermione blinked after her and pushed up her robe sleeves. "Well, I suppose I'll take that one," she said, nodding at a hippogriff loitering near a tree. She pointed at another one using its claw to tear flowers out of the bushes. "The one over there doesn't look bad."

Blaise made a noncommittal noise in his throat and hurried after Hermione as she walked across the garden. "To be honest, Granger," he said, angling his face down so that his breath brushed her ear, "I really don't like hippogriffs."

Hermione turned to him (and almost immediately turned back upon discovering their faces inches were inches apart) and began, "But you agreed to help," when she saw the uneasy look on the Italian's face. "You really don't?"

"I've never liked them," shuddered Blaise. "Some incident when I was a kid. But I haven't seen one in so long, I thought it would be fine…" He trailed off and the expression on his face as he watched a nearby hippogriff filled in the rest of his sentence.

Hermione blinked. "Well," she pointed out, "we agreed to help, so we must. But haven't you done this before?"

"Never. I ditched class that day before the half-giant could make me."

" _Hagrid_ ," Hermione murmured, but waved her hand. "Alright, here, I'll guide you through it. It's not so bad."

"Says the one who supposedly rode on a dragon two years ago," she heard Blaise mutter, but he followed her until they reached the hippogriff at the tree, and complied when Hermione beckoned for him to stand in front of her.

"Now wait until he sees you," she said, watching the hippogriff carefully. "When he looks at you, don't blink. It's a sign of aggression."

As if on cue, the hippogriff's head snapped up and met Blaise's gaze. She swore she heard the person who laughed at her fear of flying, who had already gained popularity in the Auror ranks for his ability to crack a joke at any time, whimper, and she reached out to put a hand on his arm.

"Don't move. Don't blink," she ordered.

"I really, really want to blink," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Have I ever mentioned that I'm awful at not blinking? Granger, if someone sees me now, they'll think I'm crying -"

"You will be, if you keep talking and that annoys the hippogriff," Hermione huffed. "Now shush. I think he's almost ready."

As if on cue, the hippogriff suddenly took two rapid steps forward. She felt Blaise's arm tense up, and she squeezed reassuringly, whispering, "Any second now, he'll bow his head… Bow your head back. And don't blink!"

The hippogriff's feathers ruffled as it slowly nodded its head, eyes trained still on Blaise. Blaise hesitatingly dipped his head, keeping his eyes on the yellow ones of the hippogriff.

"Now step forward," commanded Hermione. "If he still doesn't trust you, he won't let you go any further."

"As in he'll claw me into skin and bones," she heard Blaise hiss under his breath even as he lifted a foot tentatively.

He set it down in front of him. Both Hermione and Blaise held their breaths, waiting for the hippogriff to respond. It didn't. Hermione gently pushed Blaise forward.

"Granger, I really have to blink," he said, voice strained as he took two more steps forward. Hermione stopped walking with him, not wanting to get too close to the hippogriff.

"It's only been a minute and a half."

"It's been twenty ages. It's been longer than the time it takes for you to realize it's lunch break every day. I really have to blink, Granger."

"Fine, fine!" She shook her head. "Just blink slowly."

Blaise's audible sigh of relief was followed by a sudden purr from the hippogriff as it bent its head down almost completely, just two feet away from Blaise. Hermione did not have to prompt Blaise this time; he reached out a shaky hand until it rested on the hippogriff's grayish feathers.

"Bravo." Hermione turned to see one of the Magical Creatures employees nodding at Blaise and the hippogriff. "This his first time?"

"Apparently so."

"Alright, I'll take it in from here. Oi, mate! Feel around his neck for a collar, and press the little knob there. It should click the collar closed. You got it?"

"Yes, I believe so," said Blaise.

"Okay. Start backing up towards us. Keep your hand on that collar."

One minute later, the Ministry employee had taken the hippogriff from Blaise and was leading it back in. There were only a couple of hippogriffs left in the garden, one of which Hermione brought in.

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Zabini, Ms. Granger," Lavinia said, shaking her hair out of her ponytail. "We've got it from here."

"It's not a problem," said Blaise. He was rather cheery now, perhaps because his third real encounter had evidently not ended up like his first and second. Hermione watched him charm the young witch for a little while longer before clearing her throat and excusing them - they had to get back to their respective departments now.

"First thing I'm going to tell Harvey is that the famous Hermione Granger made me cry," Blaise declared as they took a lift up to their shared floor.

Hermione glared at him. "Don't tell Harvey that." Harvey was one of the new recruits in Blaise's Auror division, and according to Blaise, he had collected at least 14 Chocolate Frog cards of Harry, 9 of Ron, and exactly 23 of Hermione.

"I'll tell him you saved my life by making me cry."

She narrowed her eyes at his lopsided grin, and shook her head. "It was only for barely two minutes!"

"I told you. My greatest flaw is that I am easily defeated at staring contests. See?"

He turned his gaze to her to prove his point, eyes unblinking. She was acutely aware that their hands were touching on the rail of the lift, and that she was blushing; Hermione began to turn away right as the lift shuddered to a stop - and she slipped, hand clamping around Blaise's as she fell to the floor.

The next thing she knew, she was lying in a very uncomfortable position on the floor of the elevator; Blaise had fallen down right on top of her and currently his arm was digging into her stomach.

"Zabini," she wheezed out. "Er, could you get off? Sorry -"

She cut herself off when Blaise lifted his head. She looked at his grin and realized that they were pressed up against each other on the floor of the elevator in a very uncompromising position.

Her face flamed up as Blaise rolled off of her and got to his feet, extending a hand. She took it just as the lift doors opened - and to her embarrassment, she saw that there were a couple of employees waiting, looking rather shocked by what they no doubt thought was a scandalous rendezvous.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said awkwardly to Blaise, slowly brushing off her robes before scrambling out of the lift doors and dashing away as fast as she could while clinging to her last shred of dignity

She didn't see the way that Blaise's easy grin melted off his face as he watched her speed-walk away, or the way his own cheeks were slightly flushed and his hair became messy from running his hand through it on the way to the Auror department.

And she didn't hear when he plopped down next to Harvey Lee in the Auror training room and sighed, "Mate, there's a slight problem. I think we may be more similar than I'd hoped."

* * *

 **Yay! So I know I revealed the whole Daphne thing like 3 chapters ago so you may have forgotten or been wondering about it - but the next chapter will be coming back to that! So yes it is important and yes it will be expanded on! See you in two weeks ;)**


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